


The Third Wyrdkey

by rowaelinsmut



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowaelinsmut/pseuds/rowaelinsmut
Summary: I forgot to post this a thousand years ago, I guess. I'm still proud of this piece though.This is an alternate take on if Dorian and Manon had gotten to retrieve the third Wyrdkey from Mala's Temple. It was based on some musings from someone in the fandom wondering what happened to the key cus she forgot it had already been retrieved.
Relationships: Mala Fire-Bringer/Brannon Galathynius, Manon Blackbeak/Dorian Havilliard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	The Third Wyrdkey

1000 years ago…

Brannon Galathynius felt the weight of the gods’ wrath heavy on his soul. If only his daughter, Elena, hadn’t been so rash, so stupid, he wouldn’t be in this position. He wouldn’t have been forced to give up everything. To give up forever with his mate.

It hadn’t gotten simpler to accept over the last few months as he laid the groundwork to make sure his true heir would one day have the clues needed to locate the keys. To finish what he and Mala had started once and for all.

His mood blackened as he poured over the wrinkled map in his possession. Morath. Erawan. Entombed. Wasteful.

Brannon knew Elena stayed away from Terrasen out of shame. Her personal brand of punishment on top of what the gods had taken away from her. But he would have liked to see her home once more before she had died, if only so she could be laid to rest with her own people. To see her one more time before he too left Erilea.

So, Brannon, after months of grieving and defying the gods to lay the groundwork for his heir, crumpled up the map and tossed it into the molten river of lava that surrounded him. The King of Terrasen surveyed the burning fields before him, hardly feeling the heat of it at all since he was so attuned to it after so many years.

And in the centre of it all, surrounded by lava and fire and certain death, sat Mala’s temple.

Brannon’s heart weighed heavily as he beheld the stone temple raised in honour of his mate, magically preserved from the effects of the heat and as out of place in this burning wasteland as Mala had been as a goddess turned fae in the mortal worlds.

Brannon summoned the deadly power within his veins, the only power besides the key he held clenched in his fist that would allow access to this temple. The power his future scion would need to hone and master to reach this place.

The lava and flames rose higher around him in answer to his power as he stood on the worn path that ended before the temple, surrounded by a bed of lava that must have been some hundred feet deep. But he willed the flames, the fire and the magma to obey. To calm, to form a narrow path directly to the entrance of the stone temple before him.

And the elements obeyed. Brannon's control was endless, and he willed the most volatile of elements to still effortlessly, to cease to burn as he trekked across a now hardened path of rock.

Once he stood on the stone floor of the temple, the rock path was once more swallowed whole by Brannon’s blessing alone.

He wouldn’t have need of it again, anyways.

Brannon stalked through the entrance, paying little mind to the beds of lava, the insufferable heat that caressed his skin. He could have sworn it was Mala’s touch welcoming him to her safe haven.

He missed that touch.

The altar before him stood still, watchful and almighty and he lowered to his knees and kissed the feet of the stone replica of his mate, the Wyrdkey coming to rest at the base of it all.

There were no prayers, no thanks he could offer her. She knew his heart even in death. She knew his pains, his desires, his wrath and his joy.

Then, Brannon took a dagger that had been strapped to his thigh and used the tip of the blade to loosen a chipped flagstone. The stone gave way, and he used his hands, heated with his power to dig a little deeper, to create a pocket of air that the key could be hidden in.

He then grabbed the key from where it rested and set it into the small hole in the clay and gravel underneath the stone floor. Brannon took the stone itself and set his dagger tip upon it and began to carve the Wyrdmark into it.

The Wyrdmark that he bore upon his brow, that any true child of his line bore. The mark that he had once thought a blessing, now a curse to his one true heir.

When he was satisfied with the carving, he placed the flagstone back in its place, right between Mala’s stone feet where she could watch it until it was claimed, Brannon took to his feet one final time.

His shoulders were lighter than they had been when he arrived despite knowing the future of his line. He could forgive Elena, his strong-willed daughter who had thought she was preserving their house only now at this moment. Because it was his last.

And so, Brannon of the Wildfire, King of Terrasen, left the temple without a backwards glance and strode right into the molten river where Mala’s fiery embrace welcomed him home.

~.~.~.~

Present-day...

Manon Blackbeak and Dorian Havilliard dismounted Abraxos and both swore with equal fervour as the heat licked at their skin.

What was worse was that they had not even been able to land close enough to Mala’s temple to avoid what was sure to be an uncomfortable walk towards the pretty stone temple nestled in the middle of a river of lava.

Abraxos, small as he was, would not be able to bring them any closer without risking any burns to his already scarred hide since there wasn’t anywhere for him to land and on top of the temple seemed too dangerous since they couldn’t get close enough to see what state it was in.

And Dorian knew that Manon would never risk her beloved wyvern’s life or safety, even if she refused to admit she loved the beast.

Dorian stepped up to Abraxos’ face and settled a comforting hand on his nose. Abraxos huffed an affectionate breath against Dorian’s face but his eyes were wide. Dorian could see the worry in his intelligent and watchful eyes.

It was basically a warning to take care of the witch now stalking towards Dorian.

Manon caught the look shared between Dorian and Abraxos and bared her iron teeth.

“I have been slaughtering and fighting my way through much worse for much longer than either of you have been alive so you can stop your pointless worrying.” She snapped, although it was with much less annoyance than she usually displayed.

Dorian smiled and Abraxos put on his best, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ face, before spreading his scarred body over the deadened bit of grass that was left in this fiery burning land.

Dorian was surprised that there had been any grass. He and Manon both turned to look over the burning hell before them, sweat already creeping down his spine.

“I don’t know how Aelin could stand this power of hers...:” Dorian mused quietly, some fear and awe lacing his words.

But most of what he felt was the pain. She was lost to them, in Maeve’s clutches and there was nothing he could do but this. Retrieve the last key, banish Erawan and his ilk. Probably die in the process.

Manon unsheathed Wind-cleaver from her belt and started stalking towards the small stone path between the pools and rivers of lava. From where Dorian was standing, looked like it stopped about fifty feet away from the entrance of the temple. That would be where Dorian and Manon would have each wield one of the Wyrdkeys to cross the rest of the way to the third.

That scared Dorian more than walking through fields of burning lava and fire.

“Let’s go,” Manon called over her shoulder and Dorian jogged after her.

The path itself seemed stable enough but gods, his feet burned. The magma was spitting from one side to the other and every step towards the end was a risk. The heat was stifling and too soon, Dorian’s mortal lungs were having difficulty taking in any air.

Manon looked back towards him as he stopped to bend over and catch his breath and he knew she was worried. Dorian’s face was burning red, black hair soaked and sticking to his head, sapphire eyes, so normally filled with wickedness, dull and flat.

This walk could kill a mortal man.

Manon slowly turned to face him, placing her sure feet carefully she still wouldn’t lose her footing on the ever-thinning path.

“Use your magic to cool yourself, Dorian. Don’t be stupid.” She yelled, having to raise her voice over the roar of the fire and lava around them.

Dorian tried to summon the ice in his veins but it sputtered and flickered meekly as he tried to breathe. Manon was now directly in front of him.

“Breathe.” She commanded, her moon-white hair lank and damp in the burning heat but otherwise unaffected beside the slight pink to her cheeks. Whatever immortal grace and power flowed through her veins gave her a higher tolerance to this hell.

Dorian gripped Manon’s hand in his own, drawing on her physical strength and finally, took a shuddering breath that filled his lungs. Without waiting, he summoned the ice and froze his clothing, also slicked with sweat. Manon tore her hand out of Dorian’s as the ice tried to freeze her.

“Sorry,” Dorian panted. The ice had already thawed from his clothes so he did it again.

“You can turn back, Princeling. I can do this alone.” She called.

Dorian shook his head, “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Manon’s face remained impassive but Dorian would not give up. Not when his friend was suffering much worse in worse hands. He could do this. For her. For the future of their realm.

Manon turned back around and Dorian continued to follow her, freezing his clothing every few seconds as the heat and cold fought one another for control.

Finally, they reached the end of the path. The heat was so much worse here, so concentrated in surrounding the temple.

Dorian reached into his tunic and pulled both keys out, offering one to Manon.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think an ice bridge will help us much here.”

Manon snorted, the sound almost completely lost to the roaring around them, but seemed satisfied with Dorian’s condition if he was able to make jokes.

“I don’t suppose anything told you how to use the keys, did they?” Dorian asked her.

Manon shook her head. “My guess is we just need to… will what we want into fruition and it should obey. There wasn’t exactly a rule book that told us much about their power beyond what we already know.”

Dorian nodded. “Give it a try then.”

Manon turned back towards the fiery river ahead, separating them from their destination.

Dorian could see Manon’s shoulders stiffen before she jerked a little and stumbled back into him. The king caught her and righted her and then Manon gasped. Dorian watched as the bed of lava calmed and a pathway of stone formed, wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side. There was also quiet. The roaring had dimmed enough that they didn’t have to yell over it now.

Dorian swore and Manon jerked again.

“Shit,” she breathed, looking over her shoulder at him, golden eyes wide.

“How did you do it?” He asked quietly.

Manon shrugged. “The keys can create and they can destroy. I just… created.”

While it was only a stone path, it was alarming how easy it had been. There had to be some pitfall. It shouldn’t be this simple. Dorian and Manon both set a tentative foot on the path.

It held.

It was cool to the touch as well, glittering black stone, like the material the clocktower had been housing back in Rifthold.

Dorian took Manon’s hand, despite her protestations for something as insignificant as holding hands, and led the way over the path, still placing tentative feet to make sure it continued to hold.

At last, they reached the temple entrance. The building itself looked new, entirely unaffected from the warring element surrounding it.

“I guess Abraxos could have just landed on top and we could have climbed down.”

Manon nodded. “We’ll be able to leave easier.”

Ever the assessing warrior, ensuring escape was possible.

Dorian pocketed the key he had been holding, one key accomplished what they needed. Manon also handed him the second. Once both had joined together in his pocket, he felt the power of the surge. Searching and prodding and begging for reunification.

“Well, if there were any doubts the third Wyrdkey was here, those have just been washed away.” Dorian stumbled a little and Manon placed a bracing hand on his shoulder.

“Brannon hid the third under a flagstone. Of course, he conveniently didn’t indicate which one.” Manon said, eyeing the ground below for any signs of tampering.

“I’ll scout the back, you check the front.”

Dorian nodded and strode through the temple, following the thrum of power the keys in his possession were giving off. It was quaint in a way, not as ostentatious as most of the temples in Erilea. Almost as though it had been erected with love and not greed. He came upon the statue of Mala and lowered his head in deference.

Perhaps it was silly to pay respect to a statue, but her power flowed through his friend and that power was greater and more terrifying than anything he had encountered. She had been a goddess once…

Dorian looked around the base, where Mala’s stone feet rested and noticed a carved and dusty flagstone.

“Manon,” he called.

The witch prowled towards him and he kneeled down to wipe away the dust.

It was the nameless mark. The mark of Brannon. The mark that had burned on Aelin’s forehead the day of the duel with Cain so long ago.

Manon offered him a dagger, and settled on the ground beside him, Wind-cleaver secured around Manon’s hips once more.

Dorian grabbed the dagger, sticking it under a slightly raised corner of the stone and began prying it off. It gave after a few presses on the dagger and popped off.

And there it was.

The third Wyrdkey.

“We did it.” He breathed, not quite believing it. The keys in his pocket were humming now, almost in excitement.

Manon gave a sharp jerk of her chin. “You’d better retrieve it. They seem to want you to.”

Dorian reached a shaking hand into the small hole and drew out the sliver of stone. In his hand, its power was dormant. Nothing happened and he loosed a breath, not sure of what he expected to happen but thankful all the same nothing did.

Dorian drew the other two keys out, all the same stone, colour and size.

These items. They had the power to make kingdoms rise and fall. To wipe Erilea off the map. He swallowed loudly and put the third together with the other two.

All sound deafened around them and Manon met his eyes, both wide with fear.

Then the ground began shaking, dust and bits of stone falling down from the ceiling.

“We have to go,” Manon said, voice frozen and then grabbed Dorian’s hand. She jerked him to his feet and they sprinted towards the exit.

Dorian slid the keys in his pocket as they ran, not wanting to lose them.

He could feel the keys humming together, in recognition, in having been separated for so long. It was almost as though they were rejoicing at their joining. It didn’t seem malicious. But whatever wave of power washed over the fiery world outside had shaken the foundations around them.

They reached the exit and Manon began screaming for Abraxos as the lava outside shot upwards, coating the bridge in the molten liquid, making it impossible to run across.

The ground was shaking and the roaring had returned, where lava burst up, flames quickly followed, reaching for the sky now that it had oxygen and a window to escape from the river of magma.

Abraxos gave a roar of fury and took to the sky, smoke and flames and spitting lava in his way. He didn’t even seem to care, all he cared about was rescuing the witch beside Dorian and Dorian himself.

The temple shook even more and a pillar came loose and collapsed, coming right towards Dorian. Manon screamed and leaped to push Dorian out of the way, sending him flying into another column. His head smacked against the stone and he momentarily saw stars and then it was black.

~.~.~.~

Manon screamed in frustration. Dorian was unconscious and while he hadn't been crushed it was still her fault. She reached for him and pulled him up, the dead weight of him slowing her down.

She yelled for Abraxos who was so close and yet so far. The column Dorian smashed into came loose and Manon jerked Dorian’s body to the side just in time as it came crashing to her feet.

The dust was coating her head to toe already, Dorian’s black hair now as white as her own. She rubbed her face on her shoulder and slid her inner eyelid into place, scanning the sky.

Abraxos hovered nearby, panic plain across his far too expressive face. He couldn’t get near enough to swoop in with the lava spitting so high.

Manon swore and lifted Dorian’s body up, throwing him over her shoulders.

Gods, he was so heavy.

There were small gaps in the lava encrusted stone bridge that she could leap to but it would be dicey with the king on her shoulders. One misstep and her boots could melt to her feet.

There was no other option.

Manon roared at Abraxos, “To the middle!” And then leaped, not waiting for his confirmation. He would be there. He would always be there to catch her.

Manon landed just inside the first clear patch with about a toes breath away from the lava. She was panting, sweating, trying to hold onto Dorian with everything she had.

The witch secured her hold and screamed again as she took the next leap, it was a farther jump.

She made it.

Dorian slipped in her grip and she panicked. She planted her feet shoulder-width apart and grunted with the effort of holding him.

One more jump.

She braced herself, holding onto Dorian with a deep-seated desperation that she was unfamiliar with.

Manon leapt.

Just in time for a spit of lava to hit her, covering her forearm in the burning matter.

She screamed.

Abraxos roared and swept in but seizing Manon and Dorian in his claws as Manon was airborne before taking off with a triumphant roar.  
Gods, the smell of burning flesh made Manon’s stomach roll. She didn’t know how bad the damage was.

She could only focus on Dorian, still unconscious in Abraxos’ other grip.

Damned Wyrdkeys. Damn fate. Damn Dorian for making her care for him.

Manon turned her head to survey the temple and watched as it collapsed to rubble, the lava consuming it.

Abraxos flew them that same dead grassy patch before setting them down and bringing his head close to Manon to see the burning flesh of her arm.

Dorian finally stirred with a moan.

Manon peeled back the sleeves of her tunic tattered tunic. The skin beneath was charred, boiled almost. She retched.

Abraxos nudged her in an almost apologetic manner for not having rescued her before she was hurt. Manon instead laid back against the dead earth and laughed.

She couldn’t stop.

What a gods damned mess.

Dorian scooted over towards her, still looking dazed but pulling at her arm to inspect the damage.  
“Shit,” he growled, face pale and drawn.

Manon just kept laughing.

Abraxos was staring on at her, slightly alarmed.

“Manon,” Dorian drawled, panic clear in his voice.

“I’m fine, Princeling. I just need a minute to accept the fact that we are all going to die. Without Aelin’s fire, we are going to die so thoroughly that this mess on my arm is going to be a joke compared to the dark King’s plans.”

Dorian didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure he knew what to say.

Manon finally sat up and drew Dorian close to her, sobered.

“But if I’m going to meet the darkness, there is no one I would rather walk into it with.” She whispered.  
Dorian cradled her face in his hands, brushing dust and dirt from her cheekbones.

“You’re insane, Witchling. But I will follow you anywhere.”

Manon made a strange choking sound, nothing she had ever allowed Dorian to hear before and she saw the worry that crossed his face.

“What now?” He asked, breath brushing against her cheeks.

“To war. To Erawan. To finish what was started so long ago.” She breathed, something akin to panic rising in her chest.

She could lose him, she realized. This could be his end. And she had to deliver the King to it.

Dorian’s eyes dulled as though he knew precisely what she was thinking. Knew and perhaps accepted the cost of what needed to be done.

Manon pushed down her emotions and pulled out of his touch. Gingerly, she got to her feet and offered a hand to the man before her. He gripped it and Manon helped him to his feet.

“To war then,” Dorian said softly, patting the pocket of his pants, making sure all three slivers of stone were safe.

Manon eyed the king and decided that the gods would pay if the man standing before her died for them. They would all pay.


End file.
